


Spaces Between Us

by Elizabeethan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Reunions, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29883927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeethan/pseuds/Elizabeethan
Summary: The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Emma Swan/Wizard of Oz | Walsh
Comments: 43
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: first, the chapter count is a big fat probably, definitely not definite! I’m really really excited to share this story! i’ve got four chapter pre-written so far, so i’m planning on posting on a consistent weekly basis. 
> 
> More tags will apply to later chapters and i’ll put warnings where they're necessary, but if you have any concerns or questions feel free to message me! @elizabeethan on tumblr
> 
> Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3
> 
> (also bonus points if you can guess what the title is based on :))

She wakes before the sun as she does most mornings, with a start and a jump as she springs her head from her pillow and clutches her hand to her pounding chest. Glancing to her right, she sees her still sleeping husband and breathes a sigh of relief, letting her shoulders sag and her eyes flutter shut slightly. He’s fast asleep, just like he is each time she has one of her horrifying nightmares, never noticing her fearful thrashing. Rolling her eyes, she removes the blankets and lets her bare feet hit the hardwood floor and stands to make her way to the bathroom. After her shower, Emma dresses silently, applies minimal makeup, and sneaks out of their bedroom, still successful in not disturbing her husband. 

Her son is already on the couch downstairs waiting for her, of course. If there’s one thing the two of them are equally bad at, it’s sleeping. She smiles when she sees him curled up with his picture book, his orange tabby, Abby, purring away beside him. “Morning, bub,” she greets once she’s downstairs, and he grins up at her happily. 

“Hi, mommy.” 

Crossing the room to the couch, she leans down and presses a kiss to his cheek and asks, “do you want some breakfast? We’ve got to get you ready for the library soon.” 

“Is dad coming?”

She shakes her head. “No, bub. Dad has to work today, so it’s just you and mommy. I’m sorry.”

“Okay!” he says happily, jumping from the couch and disturbing Abby. “Me and mommy day!”

She giggles softly and grins, following as he bounds for the kitchen and trying to ignore the ache in her chest that accompanies his complete lack of concern over his father being absent for something he enjoys,  _ again.  _

“What do you want for breakfast, bub? Eggs?”

“Eggies!” he calls, crawling up onto his dining chair. “Scrambied.” 

“ _ Scrambled _ ,” she corrects gently. “With cheese?”

“Yes! Cheese please!”

“Very good manners, Henry,” she praises happily as she takes out a bowl, a whisk, and a pan before heading towards the fridge. “Aren’t you going to help me crack the eggs?” 

His eyes widen and he drops his jaw dramatically, jumping off the chair with enthusiasm and running towards her. “ _ I  _ can crack the eggies?!”

She smiles down at him, taken by his excitement and his refusal to say real words, and says, “yes, my love.” 

Choking on her words, she wants to kick herself. Six year and she still finds herself using his stupid phrasing. It sends a jolt of discomfort and a twinge of longing pain through her entire being, the ability to remember small details at the most inopportune times having always haunted her. It tells her how she feels. It tells her she’ll never forget. It tells her how she’ll never feel again. 

Her husband grumbles as he enters the kitchen, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and grabbing Emma’s ass in full view of her son, which makes her stiffen and glare ahead out the window, grinding her teeth. “Morning,” he says. 

“Do you have to do that, Walsh?” she asks quietly through clenched teeth. 

She doesn’t need to be facing him to know that he rolls his eyes. 

Taking a deep, grounding breath in, she bends towards Henry and scoops him up easily, placing him on the counter and handing him an egg. “Remember how I showed you?” 

“What are you doing, teaching him to cook?” Walsh asks in an incredulous tone. 

“I don’t know, giving him life skills? Just tap gently against the counter, bub,” she instructs, and he does just that. Well, almost that. 

He smashes the egg against the counter and she quickly helps him to drag it over the bowl, splitting it open messily and letting the yoke fall in. “I did it!”

“No shells; excellent job!” 

“Dad, look!” 

Walsh makes no effort to turn from his damn phone, instead nodding once and grunting in false acknowledgment. 

He cracks another egg, this time getting a bit of shell in the bowl but able to fish it out with help, and Emma begins beating them with just a bit too much force. “What exactly are we doing today?” she asks. 

“Swearing in ceremony. The new sheriff starts.”

She nods. The new sheriff was appointed by the state, so no one but Walsh knows who they are or what their deal is. Why they’re in Storybrooke to begin with. What kind of town they think they’re going to be protecting and serving. It shouldn’t be as exciting as it is, greeting a new citizen, but Storybrooke is a sleepy little town with very little excitement. 

She has no idea how she got here. 

“That’s why you can’t come to the library, dad?” Henry asks sadly, and his father nods without making eye contact. 

“Yeah,” he confirms. “I have important work to do.”

Emma rolls her eyes, then smiles softly at Henry and says, “it’s alright. It’s just Henry and mommy day, remember?”

His face lights up again and he nods, grabbing for the cheese and stealing a slice for himself. She glares at him playfully and he giggles, squirming to the edge of the counter before she assists him down and he runs for the living room. “Food in the kitchen!” Emma calls after him. Walsh looks up from his phone for a moment, then straight back down. 

Henry returns quickly, holding a small piece of cheese down towards the floor and taunting poor Abby with it as she chases after him. “She wants some!”

“Henry, we don’t give Abby human food, remember? Why don’t you eat your cheese and give her some of her food?”

He nods, gobbling his snack and then tossing a small piece onto the floor for the cat when he thinks she’s stopped paying attention. God dammit. 

“Hey, dress nice today,” Walsh commands from behind his emails. “After the library, come to the town hall. There’ll be photo ops for the paper.”

“Okay,” she mumbles. 

“Make sure he doesn’t make a mess of himself.”

She can’t respond with words without shouting, so she stays quiet. God forbid a child have a little fun and get a little dirty. “Henry, come get your breakfast. Did you feed Abby?”

“Okay!”

“Did you?”

“Coming!”

She signs and rolls her eyes, plating his  _ eggies _ and tossing the pan into the sink too loudly before feeding the cat and heading upstairs, hoping her child’s father can watch him for the five minutes it will take for her to pick out a newspaper-worthy outfit for the two of them. 

~~~~

“There it is!” Henry calls as he runs into the children’s section of the library, dodging other kids and parents and beelining towards his favorite. “Mommy! Come on!”

She apologizes to the people he bumped into and finds him with his book already open to his favorite page. “Henry,” she says seriously. “Bub, you’ve got to slow down. You ran into some people and you have to be careful.”

“Sorry,” he says, not looking up from the dog in the illustration. 

She sighs and sits beside him, nudging him over and taking a spot on the oversized bean bag chair. “What is Mudge getting up to today?” she asks him, using the skills Belle taught her to get him to engage with the words and the pictures. 

He’s quiet for a while, pointing out details to her and trying his hand at a few words. He’s starting to get good at reading since starting kindergarten, and she couldn’t be prouder when he sounds out  _ family _ without much help, beaming at him and stroking her fingers through his chestnut hair. 

“Mommy?” he asks after taking in an illustration of Henry and Mudge going up a hill. She hums in response to urge him to go on and he asks, “why doesn’t dad like to read with me?” 

She can feel her heart plunging to her stomach, dropping like an anvil and sending a cold sweat across her body. Walsh has always been distant. When they first met, he seemed so sweet, and when he proposed as soon as they found out she was pregnant, she thought she had hit the jackpot. But as soon as their son was born, she saw a change in him. He became a different person, never around, never helping much, never showing either of them any affection. She blamed it on his new role as the Mayor of Storybrooke; he couldn’t have had a scandalous extramarital pregnancy on his docket and being a family man helped his chances for election. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to know that the man she’s stuck spending the rest of her life with isn’t shy about how little he regards her. 

She can deal with a lack of love from her husband. What she can’t deal with is his lack of love for his son.

Through her anger, she responds calmly, telling Henry, “dad’s just so busy, bub. He has an important job and it’s hard for him to focus on other things sometimes, because he’s so tired.” 

Henry nods softly and turns the page. “So he doesn’t like me?” 

The tears that spring to her eyes are instant and unstoppable, and she’s grateful that they're sitting side by side so that he can’t see her reaction. Clearing her throat, she says, “no, Henry, of course he does. I think sometimes he’s just… stressed.”

“You’re stressed, but you love me,” he points out. 

With a gulp, she says, “and I always will, more than anything. But your dad… he… Well, he just isn’t the type of person to say that like mommy is. That’s why I say it so much,” she smiles. 

Her son looks up at her and smiles, his enigmatic gray eyes shining despite the sunlight not reaching this secluded back corner of the library. “I love you, mommy,” he tells her, and he gives her a hug that makes her feel more love than she’s ever felt with her husband. 

She’s always been able to compartmentalize the fact that her husband doesn’t love her. That he never once told her that he does. That he married her out of obligation after knocking her up. But she can’t ignore the fact that he shows no love for their son, either. 

What’s worse, is that he’s noticed. 

~~~~

The town hall is nothing special, the cinderblock walls and the tile floors enough to keep the cold, fall air inside and make Emma shiver when she takes her coat off. Her husband, miserable as he is, gives her a quick smile and a curt nod that tells her she’s only welcome here because of the cameras and their need to portray a happy, loving family. It’s true, he’s always provided for them and made sure that they want for nothing, but it’s limited only to basic needs and material things. 

“Hi,” he greets quickly, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek as a camera flashes. She forces herself to smile. “Hi, son.” 

Henry grunts up at his father, not making eye contact and not letting go of Emma’s hand. “Hi,” he mumbles. 

Emma knows, as much as she hates to admit it, that Henry should give his dad a hug so that Sydney Glass can snap a photo of the wholesome moment. But after their conversation earlier, she isn’t inclined to make him. So, she bends at the knees and gives him a smile, asking, “bub, do you want to give your dad a hug hello?” 

He shrugs, looking down at his feet, and reluctantly reaches for Walsh. He laughs happily as he picks Henry up, giving him a squeeze and successfully tricking the few townsfolk here into believing his show. “How was the library, buddy?” 

Henry says nothing in return, shrugging and then squirming until Walsh puts him down. He runs back to Emma and takes her hand again, holding on tight, and she paints on a smile and runs her fingers through his hair. “Let’s find a seat, Henry,” she suggests. 

“There's seats here for you,” Walsh tells her, gesturing for the first row where there are three folding chairs, each with a placard on them.  _ Mayor Walsh Oswald _ is first, with  _ Mrs. Walsh Oswald _ to the right and  _ Mr. Henry Oswald _ in the center of the two. 

Emma takes a seat and has Henry do the same, and after a few more handshakes and photo ops, Walsh sits as well and the ceremony begins. Sydney Glass continues to snap pictures of the crows and of the stage, until the lights dim and the state’s police chief walks on stage. 

A speech is made, as if this event is anything more than mundane, and then the mayor is called on stage to complete the induction of the town’s new sheriff. Walsh graces the stage excitedly, earning applause from the small crowd as he waves, and takes the microphone. He says a few words about the town’s safety being the number one priority, and assures everyone that the state police chief surely couldn't have made a better decision when he hired their new sheriff. 

And then he calls him onto the stage. 

And Emma’s world goes dark. 

_ Killian Jones _ . 

Her eyes must be three times their normal size as he walks onto the stage, and she’s grateful for the dramatic lights because they mean he likely can’t see her. But she can see him. 

For the first time in six years, she can  _ see him. _

Her breathing quickens and her vision feels blurry, and she realizes that in her haste to get ready this morning, she had barely anything but coffee. She takes a deep breath and clings to the seat of her folding chair with white knuckles, gnawing on her bottom lip until it bleeds as she watches the one that got away place his hand on the bible and repeat a vow of servitude to her husband. She wants to die. 

“Mommy?” Henry whispers in the darkness. “Are you okay?” 

She swallows against her bone dry throat and nods, giving him a shaky smile, which only serves to worry him some more, likely due to her sudden paleness. “Yes,” she whispers. “Hush, bub. It’s almost done.” 

The heart in her chest, the one she gave away to the man on the stage years ago, slams against her ribs almost painfully, until Walsh announces the new sheriff and the crowd begins to cheer. Through panting breaths, she claps, and then grabs Henry’s hand and pulls him as subtly as she can towards the exit and into the chilly November air. “Where are we going?” he asks in confusion. 

“Mommy just needs some air,” she explains, gulping in a breath as she throws herself through the double doors. 

She squats down and presses her back to the brick wall, burying her face in her hands and trying to steady her breathing before she feels Henry's small hand on her head. He does what she always does to him when he’s upset and begins scratching his fingers against her scalp, and the thoughtful notion brings tears to her eyes. “It’s okay, mommy,” he consoles, and she’s sure he has no idea what’s going on, although he shows her endless compassion either way. She wonders how she got so lucky with such a thoughtful son when he was basically doomed by genetics. 

“I’m sorry, bub,” she says softly. “I’m fine, really.” 

She hears the doors open to her right and assumes the ceremony must be over, so she turns her head away from the crowd. She hears someone ask Henry if he’s alright and starts wiping at her tears, intent on interrupting the exchange, but when Henry says, “my mommy is sick,” she laughs and shakes her head. 

“Shall we get her some help, lad?” he asks, and Emma’s certain that if she had eaten breakfast, she would lose it. 

“I don’t need help,” she mumbles, breathing heavily and hiding her face in her hands. 

“It’s no problem,” he insists. Then he makes a joke, his tone light and flirty and exactly like she remembers it. “I don't know if you noticed, but I'm here to protect and serve.” 

It’s impossible for her to hold in a soft chuckle, cut off by a surprising and breathless sob, and she can’t help but to look up at him. She watches as his jaw drops and his eyes widen; he falters backwards as he takes in the sight of her, denial and shock ever present on his face. He looks like he wants to say something, but words die on his lips and he remains still before he snaps his mouth shut. 

“Aren’t you gonna help my mom?” Henry asks in disgust, staring up at Killian in a way that makes Emma want to throw up. She never did think that these two worlds would collide, as much as she may have wanted them to. 

He hasn’t broken his gaze from her until he looks at her son and gulps before staring back down at her. “Uh, aye,” he says to Henry. “Do you need some help, miss?” 

Without waiting for her answer, he offers her his hand and she takes it. There’s a shock that rushes through her entire body at the feeling of his skin touching hers, and it feels like she’s coming home and losing her sanity all at once. The pains in her chest are overwhelming and she can feel more tears stinging her eyes as he pulls her up from the ground. She nearly topples into his chest once she’s finally standing, because she’s so unsteady that her legs feel like they’re made of the noodles Henry likes in his soup, and he catches her before she can stumble. 

He asks, “alright?” with such soft concern that she thinks she would smoothe out his brow and kiss him if not for Henry standing beside them. 

She’s about to answer before she hears, “sheriff,” coming from her husband to her right. Her  _ husband.  _ Right. 

They spring apart and she looks down at Henry, who is staring up at her with his brows drawn close together and his lips set in a straight, thin line. She gives him a small smile before looking at Walsh and blinking rapidly. “Hi, honey,” she greets. “I just met the sheriff; he was just helping me up. What a great addition to the town.” 

Walsh glares at her with a look on his face that tells her she’ll be hearing about this later and then turns to Killian and offers his hand. “I look forward to meeting with you, Mr. Jones,” he says as they shake hands stiffly. 

“Pleasure,” he responds. “It was nice to meet you and your family. I’ll see you next week.” 

Her husband places a stiff hand on her back, calling for Henry to follow them without bothering to make sure that he actually is, before hissing, “let’s go,” into her ear. 

Her heart races for an entirely different reason than it had when she saw Killian Jones. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! posting early because @kmomof4 made me!
> 
> Reminder that more tags will apply to later chapters and i’ll put warnings where they're necessary, but if you have any concerns or questions feel free to message me!
> 
> Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3
> 
> (also bonus points if you can guess what the title is based on :) it’s a hint)

It’s impossible for him to sleep when he feels her soft fingers smoothing over the tattered expanse of his back. He feels her lips gliding over his shoulder as she kisses him there, her mouth warm and comforting against the cold, winter air. “Good morning,” she murmurs tenderly. 

He groans as he realizes the early hour, although he swears he doesn’t mind ever being woken up if it’s by her lips. He mumbles his response, “too early,” and rolls over so that he can cage her in his arms and feel her bare body against his.

“Too early for what?” she asks him with a smirk, leaning up to kiss him deeply, grinding her hips up against him and making him groan.

He wakes with a start, head springing from the pillow as the memory of Emma’s fingers on his skin lives on still, six years after he lost her.

~~~~

“I’m constantly in awe of you,” he starts, and for a brief second, she lets herself think he might be about to say something of substance. Something profound. Something thoughtful and loving that a husband may say to his wife. And then: “it’s incredible how little respect you have for our marriage. I’m the  _ Mayor,  _ Emma. Did you forget that?” 

She gulps as he slams their bedroom door after getting home late from a celebratory dinner following the ceremony. “Henry’s going to hear you,” she complains meekly. 

“Fucking let him!” he shouts back. “Maybe it’s time he figured out how horrible of a wife his mother is! Just when I thought you were finally starting to comprehend how important it is for us to show the town a healthy family dynamic, you run out of the presentation before we can greet the townspeople. I told you there would be photo ops! It’s an election year! And then somehow you wind up in the new sheriff’s arms? You’re lucky no one saw you, you harlot.” 

“I’m not a harlot,” she argues. “How dare you? I tripped and he ensured that I didn’t fall. So shoot me.” 

He breathes through his teeth, making tight fists at his sides as one side of his top lip starts to twitch. “Sometimes…” he starts, cutting himself off. 

“What? You think I haven’t sacrificed enough for your image? You think I haven’t thrown enough away to make you look good?” 

He slams his fist against the wall, making her jump. “Do not disrespect me like that again. You are my  _ wife,”  _ he hisses, making the title sound more like a curse than a privilege. 

She sniffles and shakes her head before she quietly announces, “I’m going to take a bath,” leaving the room and heading down the hall to the guest bathroom that hardly ever sees any use aside from her need for solitude. 

She’s always wanted to be married. There was a time when she was looking forward to being someone’s wife. There was a time, when that didn’t work out, that she thought being Walsh’s wife would be comparable to her dreams and fantasies. And now, she dreads being Mrs. Oswald. 

Truthfully, she wanted to keep her name. She wanted Henry to have her name. But when she told Walsh this, it became the first of many blowout fights that saw her sleeping on the couch or in the guest bedroom. While she knows that to be the first red flag that their marriage isn’t what she thought it would be, she wonders if her desire to keep her own name could be considered a sign that the relationship wasn’t right, considering her desire to do the opposite with Killian. She shoves him from her thoughts as she usually does: forcefully and with immediacy. 

She doesn’t regret having her son for a second. He’s the best thing to ever happen to her. But sometimes, through guilt and dismay, she wishes they had been more careful so that she wouldn’t have been saddled with Walsh for as long as they both shall live. 

She wants to go to therapy, has brought it up several times in the six years she’s been married to him. But he always denies her, saying that the town can’t know of her problems and that she can deal with things on her own. People would judge the family if they found out. He would risk his status and his chances for reelection. 

Turning on the water as hot as it will go, she pours in her bath salts and bubbles and wipes tears from her eyes, letting herself focus on the violent stream of water as it fills the tub. She undresses without looking at herself in the mirror, wondering in passing why she should bother when her husband avoids her like the plague. She can hardly even recall the last time she was naked in front of him with the lights on, but she knows it must have been at least a year ago, if not much more. The only time they’re ever intimate is if he randomly and drunkenly decides he wants to get off, and she’s never so lucky.

Her toes skim over the hot water, plunging through the bubbles, and she groans as she begins to sit down and lets the warmth envelop her. She’s found that, in the last six years, the only time she’s felt warm is in the tub. She sinks below the surface until she’s almost completely covered, the suds hiding her from the outside world as she wipes away her tears and finds herself craving the warm touch of another’s hands.

~~~~

Monday morning can’t come fast enough, and that is not a feeling that Killian Jones experiences very frequently. 

Running into the woman he never stopped loving certainly destroyed his weekend. His plan was to get to know the town, introduce himself to it’s denizens, maybe even make a few friends, but instead, he spent the rest of Saturday and the entirety of Sunday holed up in his house, self medicating with the last of his Captain Morgan. 

It’s not like he has an alcohol problem, honest. It’s just that seeing Emma Swan reminds him how good it felt to be with her, and seeing her husband and child reminds him of how bad it feels to be away from her. The Captain helps that bad feeling a bit. 

He knew this would happen. Not that he would ever see her again, but that she would move on without him and lead the happy life that she deserves. When they last saw each other, they weren’t in a place where he could give her that, so he’s happy that she went out and got it elsewhere. 

Okay,  _ happy  _ is a stretch. Seeing her with her husband and her son fucking sucked. 

He shouldn't be surprised that her child is as adorable and brazen as she is, but when he saw the little guy, his heart practically melted after he got past the shock. He must be around three or four going by his size, and of course Emma has been raising a child who’s as smart as a whip. 

He shouldn’t be surprised that she’s still just as beautiful as the day he left, either. If his math is correct, she must be around 34 by now, but she doesn’t look a day older than when he last saw her. 

Pushing through the doors to the station, he walks down the hall until he reaches the bullpen and finds it nearly completely empty, save for his deputy and a man snoring in a cell. 

“Morning,” he greets. “I’m looking for Ruby?”

The woman sitting at a desk straightens and turns to face Killian, a woolfish smirk spread across her face as she cocks her head and stands once she sees him. “That’s me,” she flirts. “Who wants to know?” 

He clears his throat and raises a brow. “The new Sheriff. Killian Jones.” 

She stumbles over her impractical heels, hand landing on the desk to steady herself before she straightens and brushes her hands over the front of her bare thighs. “Sheriff,” she says nervously. “Ruby Lucas, your deputy.” 

As she offers him her hand for a shake, he looks down at it and back up at her, raising both brows now and shaking his head. “Alright,” he concedes, wondering what the best way to handle this situation would be. “Is this my office?” he asks, gesturing his head behind himself to the glass room. 

“Yep!” she calls behind him. “I cleaned it myself. Your badge and gun are on the desk, along with the keys to your squad car.” 

“Great,” he nods. “In a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you. Get a bit of a rundown on the town. What’s this guy in for?” 

“Will frequents the drunk tank, don’t you, Will? I think he’s almost sober.” His response is only to snore louder. 

Killian nods again and walks towards his new office, pushing the door open, and says, “grab me when he’s out.” 

He sits, feeling uncomfortable with the face that he’s facing the bullpen. It seems awkward to be completely visible, though he understands why, and he considers going to the hardware store to grab some blinds. Then he wonders if this damn town even has a hardware store. 

It’s not as if it’s always been his dream to be a sheriff of a small town. He’s always wanted to be a detective, maybe a captain one day. He was almost there, in fact, until his brother died and his life went to hell and he lost everything. And now he’s here, stuck taking the first bloody job he could get his hands on and somehow reunited with Emma bloody Swan. 

He shakes his head and corrects himself. Because she’s not Emma Swan anymore. She’s not his Swan anymore. 

There’s a knock on the door some time later, and Ruby pokes her head in. “He’s gone,” she informs him, hanging around until he gestures for her to enter and have a seat across from him. 

“Okay.”

“What do you want to know?” she asks cheerfully as she sits, smiling at him and brushing her hair out of her face. Despite her outfit choice, the short skirt and low-cut top horribly impractical for her job duties, she doesn’t give off the impression that she’s going to behave inappropriately towards him, and for that, he’s grateful. 

“What do you think I should know? What would you tell any newcomer to this… Storybrooke?” 

She makes a sound he can’t quite read and shrugs. “We don’t get many newcomers. We were  _ very  _ surprised to learn a statie would be choosing the new sheriff.” 

Pursing his lips and rearranging his pencils, he asks, “what happened to the old sheriff, then?”

Ruby clears her throat. “He, uh… he was having an affair. With the city manager. It was very scandalous; the two of them ran away together. Honestly, I think she was toxic. But he was wrapped around her witchy little fingers.” 

He hums thoughtfully and looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath before nodding again. “Alright,” he says softly. “Any… I don’t know, any locals I should know about? Aside from Will?”

She chuckles and shrugs. “There’s only a handful of people here, really. Not much to know, not much excitement.” 

“I have a meeting with the mayor on Wednesday.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

With a gulp, she nods. “That’s good. Good to have backing from the mayor.”

He narrows his eyes, taking note of the way she nervously twirls her hair around her fingers. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

She looks up at him in surprise and then groans. “Cops,” she says, rolling her eyes. “All I can say is that I hope you have this  _ town’s _ best interests in mind. I know you’re new here, but the last sheriff grew up here and he didn’t.”

“That’s my job…” he says through confusion. “To protect and serve.”

She scoffs. “Yeah. It was Graham’s job too.”

“And what has you so worried about the mayor?” The former Sheriff may not have had the town’s interests in mind, but he’s failing to see what that has to do with their elected official. 

She shrugs. “I couldn’t name a single person who actually voted for him, for one. And he has these two… I don't know, henchmen. They’re always around and they always look like they’re ready to cut a bitch, but I’ve never actually seen them do anything illegal.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, wondering what the bloody hell he’s gotten himself into moving to this sleepy town. “Henchmen?” he asks doubtfully. “You mean security?”

She shrugs again. “They're big dudes. Muscles, scars, permanent RBF, the whole nine. They're twins. Jack and Jason Munch.” 

“Jack and Jason Munch...” he repeats, shaking his head in disbelief and sighing. “Alright, so we watch out for these… Munch’s. Does the mayor have a reason to have such mysterious muscle?” 

“Not that I can tell. Aside from being generally weird, I’ve never had any proof that he’s doing something he shouldn’t be.” 

“What about the mayor’s wife?” he asks without thinking, kicking himself under the desk. Honestly, he’s proud of himself for lasting this long without bringing her up.

Ruby shrugs nonchalantly and says, “I barely know her. I like her enough; she’s never once used a nanny to raise her kid. Basically doing it all on her own, from what I can tell.” 

He finds himself practically beaming with pride at the sentiment. Not that there’s anything wrong with having a nanny or having support in raising a child, but his Emma is so fiercely independent that she would never let someone help her rear her son. 

No, not his Emma. 

“I see.” 

“She seems miserable most of the time, if you ask me.”

“Miserable?”

She nods. “She and her husband put on a show when they’re in public. They seem all happy. But we cops are trained to look at the details, right?” She narrows her eyes and taps her forefinger to her temple. “The way she winces when he touches her, the way she grinds her teeth when he hugs their kid… it’s bizarre. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a genuine smile on her face.”

~~~~

Emma parks her bug in her sister’s driveway and shuts off the ignition, taking a deep breath before she turns around. “Ready?” she asks Henry, and he bounces in his booster seat and nods excitedly. 

He had a rough week at school, his teacher telling Emma yesterday that he was getting into arguments with other kids in his class all week. It’s not like him, and Emma wants desperately to talk about it with him, but she knows what this is. She knows talking wouldn’t help right now, so she does the next best thing. 

Plus, she could use some time out of the house. With no job and her son now attending school during part of the day, she’s had nothing to keep her mind occupied and it’s starting to become difficult to put on a happy face each day. 

“Leo’s very excited to see you,” she informs him. If Henry was a surprise, her nephew Leo was a complete shock, her sister becoming pregnant with him after only a year with David. Of course, they fell in love almost instantly and were married after just 10 months, so maybe finding out about the baby two months later wasn’t such a shock to them, but Emma certainly wasn’t expecting it. 

Mary Margaret has always been the more emotionally secure of the two of them, so maybe that’s why she was able to commit to an engagement with her boyfriend of just six months whereas Emma was still dragging her feet four years into her relationship with the love of her life. Maybe if she has lived her life more like her sister has, she would have some semblance of happiness in her marriage. 

She shakes her head, unclicking the seatbelt and helping Henry out of his own before helping him out of the car and watching as he races to the door. “Slow, Henry!” she calls after him. “You know you have to be careful!”

He rings the bell of his aunt’s farmhouse without acknowledging Emma’s statements, and Mary Margaret is opening the door before Emma can even make it to the porch. “Henry!” she calls as he lunges at her for a hug. “It’s so nice to see you!”

“What’s for lunch?” he asks suddenly, ignoring her greeting. 

“Henry,” Emma tries to scold, but her sister grins at her and shrugs. 

“I’m making macaroni and cheese, Henry. With dinosaur shaped noodles.” 

He gasps and widens his eyes, throwing himself into another hug and squeezing her legs gratefully before shouting about how excited he is. She chuckles, guiding him into the house, and then gives Emma a tight squeeze as well. “You okay?” she asks, giving her a kind smile and brushing the hair away from her eyes. “You look exhausted.” 

Emma shrugs. “I’m raising a little scalawag, of course I'm exhausted.” 

With a light laugh as she guides Emma into the house and closes the door, Mary Margaret remarks, “please. Those bags under your eyes weren’t even there when he was born and staying in the hospital.  _ Or _ during his terrible threes.” 

“Don’t remind me,” she begs, rolling her eyes. Her sister’s right, she does have bags and no amount of concealer has been able to combat them, but she isn’t sure now is the time to discuss their origins. “I’m fine,” she ends up mumbling. 

They watch fondly as Henry and Leo run through the house towards the back door before the pitter patter of Wilby’s clawed feet make his presence known, his father not far behind. “Hey!” David calls. “There’s my favorite nephew! Come here.” 

Henry dives into his uncle’s arms for a tight hug, giggling as he tosses him into the air playfully, much to Emma’s discomfort. David reads her tense body language and puts him down almost immediately, sending him back to his cousin before starting towards the living room chair she’s on and giving her a kiss on her cheek. “You okay?” he asks, and Emma rolls her eyes. 

“If you ask me about the bags under my eyes, I swear…” 

He laughs, but is interrupted by Henry loudly screaming, “mommy! I can go on the swings, please!”

“Only if you’re very careful!” she calls back, refusing to take her eyes off of him for fear that he may end up needing his inhaler. 

“Seriously, though, you’re looking a bit rough around the edges.” 

“You could not be ruder if you tried right now,” she accuses jokingly. Truthfully, she couldn’t love her brother-in-law more than she does. There isn’t another man in Henry’s life who treats him as well as David does, and he needs that type of father figure when his own father treats him like a mistake. “I’m fine.” 

“You know I  _ know  _ you, right?” Mary Margaret asks incredulously as David sits beside his wife. “We shared a room for our entire lives, I know when you’re fine and when you're not fine. Right now, you're not fine.” Emma shrugs, still staring as her son laughs playfully beside Leo. “Is it Henry? I thought his asthma has been under control lately?” 

“It is, for the most part,” she answers softly. “The therapy has been working well and we should be able to avoid him needing surgery or anything if everything stays this way.” 

Henry’s asthma is severe and has been since he was born. Being somewhat premature, the doctors suspected that his lungs had trouble fully developing since neither she nor Walsh have any instances of asthma in the family that could explain his. He sees his respiratory therapist on a monthly basis and uses his nebulizer and inhaler twice a day, and it all seems to be working as well as it can. 

“Okay… that’s good.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So what’s wrong, then?” 

“That damn husband of yours,” David says candidly, and Emma gulps, feeling like her throat is constricting. She doesn’t peel her gaze off of Henry, refusing to look at either of them as tears begin to sting her eyes. It’s as if David knows that he’s hit the nail on the head because he sighs, sits back in his chair and says, “Ems…” 

The tears she’s been fighting all week start falling and she sniffles, although she continues to look straight ahead and simply brushes them away to regain her composure. “Really, I’m--” 

“Please don't say you’re fine,” Mary Margaret begs, placing her hand on the top of her sister’s and squeezing gently. She turns to face her and lets a sob slip through her lips without meaning to. 

“He’s here,” she chokes, pulling her lips into her mouth to bite down on them harshly and then letting out another sob.

“Yes, Henry’s right outside, honey!”

“No,” she cries, dropping her face to her hands. “Killian. He’s here, in Storybrooke.” 

The dam she’s been trying so hard to keep in tact essentially crumbles as Mary Margaret slides off of her chair and kneels before Emma, placing her hands on her arms and rubbing them up and down a bit before pulling her in for a hug. The feeling of her sister squeezing her is what keeps her whole, it’s what allows her to pull herself together long enough to choke out, “I never thought I would see him again. And now that he’s here, I just-- I can’t--” 

“I know,” Mary Margaret whispers. She pulls away from Emma and sits in her chair again, knowing enough to understand that she needs some physical space. “I had no idea it was him… I honestly didn’t pay attention to the paper aside from how miserable you looked.”

She ignores her sister’s jab against her relationship with her husband and says, “I thought I was over it! Shouldn’t six years be enough time to move on? I thought-- I mean, I haven’t thought about him in years.” Mary Margaret narrows her eyes and cocks her head to the side, turning towards Leo and Henry thoughtfully and opening her mouth, although she’s interrupted before she can speak.

“I don't understand. Why are we upset about the new sheriff?” 

His wife sighs and says, “it’s not because he’s the sheriff, David. Killian Jones is the one that got away. The one who broke Emma’s heart into a million tiny, irreparable pieces. The one Emma still--” 

“Don’t.” 

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “You remember; Walsh was the guy she had a rebound one night stand with and got stuck with for life. It was all over Killian.” 

“Oh…” he starts nervously, and as Emma wipes her tears and blows her nose, she could swear she sees David beginning to sweat. 

“What?”

“Um, just… I didn’t know about your… history with him.” 

She stares him dead in the face, taking out all the stops with her scary mom look, and asks through gritted teeth, “what did you do?” 

“David.” 

“I met the sheriff this morning on a call. He was on call, not actually on duty, but someone called for animal control and he got there first. We got to talking and… I may have… invited him for lunch.” 

“David!” Emma screams, standing from the chair and sending it backwards with the force. She thrusts her fingers into her hair nervously, tugging at the roots and feeling her breathing quicken and her heart start racing. “Tell me you're lying. Tell me this is a sick joke to get a rise out of me.” 

He watches as she paces back and forth through the living room anxiously, her eyes darting across the room and out at Henry, then back at David. “Emma, I would call and cancel, honestly I would, but…” He looks down at his watch and cringes before they all jump at the sound of the doorbell. 

Emma feels herself going white, a cold fire burning across her skin as she tries to catch her breath and sit down slowly. 

He’s here. 

~~~~

His heart races when he pulls the squad car into David’s driveway, confused by the old yellow bug parked beside him and shaking his head. There’s no way, he thinks. It must be his wife’s. There’s no way she could still have the same old car. No way she would be friends with the town’s animal control officer. No way the high backed booster seat in the back seat belongs to her son. 

So he swallows his fear and rings the bell of the large front door, wiping his sweaty palm against his jeans. David was nice enough to invite him over, warning him that his wife and four year old son would be present as well as if Killian would have some kind of problem with that. Perhaps the only problem he would have would be jealousy. He himself has always wanted a family, but it would seem that it isn’t in the cards for him. 

He hears commotion inside the house, perhaps some shouting that makes him raise a brow high on his forehead without meaning to. After just a few moments, David answers the door with a smile and nervously offers his hand for a shake. The way he’s panting anxiously as a bead of sweat trails down his temple makes Killian’s sheriff radar go off. 

Taking his hand despite his suspicions, Killian greets, “afternoon, David. Everything alright?” 

“Oh yeah,” he says, waving his hand in front of himself and gesturing for Killian to come in. “Just, uh, working on lunch. The kids are having mac and cheese, but us adults get soup.” 

“Kids? I thought you had just the one? Leo?” 

David gulps nervously as he shows Killian through the house, guiding him through the living area and into the kitchen. “I do… my nephew is here as well.” 

“Oh,” Killian answers. Perhaps this will be good for him, then. If he’s around his new friend David’s kid  _ and  _ his nephew, maybe it will numb the pain of never having a son of his own. “Alright. Soup is good, although I’d count them lucky with the mac and cheese,” he jokes with a lighthearted laugh. 

David laughs too, but it’s forced and breathless. “Good one!” he peeks around the corner of the room before gesturing for Killian to follow him into the kitchen, and the entire situation is becoming bizarre. Killian honestly wonders if his radar was way off and David is actually some kind of serial killer preparing his next hit before there's a crash from outside.

_ “Shit! _ ” he hears from the porch off of the living room, and he hurries back from where they came and sees a small woman with short black hair running across the porch. At first he thinks she looks familiar, but he knows it can’t be. 

That is, until she runs back in front of the door carrying a chair, sliding to a halt with her eyes bugged out of her head when she sees Killian standing there. 

Mary Margaret. 

Emma’s sister. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathes, and he almost walks towards the door to see what the hell is going on before he hears more shouting. 

“M’s, come on, I’m stuck! Hurry!” his breathing catches in his throat when he hears her voice and he turns to face David, who looks just as horribly nervous as he has since Killian arrived. 

“What’s going on, Dave?” he asks, before another crash sounds. 

“Mommy! Are you escaping, mommy?”

The child,  _ Emma’s child _ , runs from the swing set to the porch and Killian can wait no longer, walking to the door and sliding it open to see Emma hanging by her belt loop, caught on the top of a fence picket, one leg bent and supporting her weight as she hangs upside down and struggles to free herself. Mary Margaret stands on the deck chair trying to help her, but she isn’t able to lift her sister high enough to free her from her trap. 

He rushes from his spot and hurries Mary Margaret down from the chair, taking her place and locking each arm under Emma’s body, the weight of which he hasn’t felt in years and never thought he would feel again. Her eyes catch his, as deep green and enchanting as ever, and they widen as he lifts her effortlessly, looking down at her belt loop to encourage her to unhook herself. 

Once she’s freed, he starts to try and get them down from the chair, but it rocks on the slightly uneven panes of the deck and she starts, gasping and clinging her fists to the lapels of his jacket, never once breaking her gaze from his. He gulps, carefully lowering the both of them to the ground but not making any moves to drop her from his arms. There was a time when he vowed that if he ever got to hold her again, he would never let go. He just didn’t anticipate it to be in this circumstance. 

“Thank you,” she whispers breathlessly, still gripping his jacket with furious white knuckles. 

“Always,” he breathes back. At the sound of his voice and the sensation of his breath washing over her face, he swears he doesn't make up the way her lashes flutter and her lips part just slightly. 

Someone clears their throat, he isn’t sure who, and he shakes his head and bends at the knees, lowering her to a standing position but keeping his hand on her back to ensure that she’s steady on her feet. She stumbles just a bit once she’s upright and then blinks at him, shakes her own head, and turns around, brushing off the backs of her thighs. 

She walks into the house, her son following close behind talking excitedly about the stunt, and he can do nothing more than watch as she goes with his mouth agape and his eyes trained permanently on her. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatdaya thiiiink?


End file.
